My heart is like a fairy land,
⁠With flowers and garlands gay;
My heart is like a meadow plain,
⁠Whereon a child may play.

My heart is like a silver brook
⁠That lightly babbles by;
And sometimes like a dreamy lake
⁠Beneath a heavy sky.

And sometimes like a stormy sea,
⁠With waves that rise at will,
Till o’er the water breathes a voice,
⁠And then the waves are still.

My heart is like a roomy house,
⁠With widely opened door —
One day the gates will shut, and then
⁠Comes peace forevermore.

God’s lilies droop about the world,
⁠In sweetness everywhere;
They are the maiden-souls who learn
⁠To comfort, and to bear
And to smile upon the heavy cross
⁠That every one must wear.

O lilies, beautiful and meek!
⁠They know God’s will is right,
And so they raise their patient heads
⁠In dark and stormy night,
And far above the eastern hills
⁠They see the dawn of light.

They know that when their day is done,
⁠And deep the shadow lies,
The cross will weary them no more;
⁠So lightly they arise
To meet the angels when they call
⁠"Lilies of Paradise!"

Only be patient, all will come
⁠To one who knoweth how to wait;
The wished-for, love-desired home —
⁠Ah yes, it cometh soon or late.

Ah yes, it cometh; see the star
⁠Of hope in darkest clouds arise:
Ah yes, it cometh; see from far
⁠The dawning red in eastern skies.

O my beloved, we shall see,
⁠When all the weary years are o’er,
How very sweet the days will be,
⁠For you and me, forevermore.

The way is long! Come near to me;
I cannot live afar from Thee,
Nor journey to my home above,
Unless Thou aid me with Thy love.

So many errors clog my soul —
So many evils round me roll:
I faint with all the weary strife —
Come near me, Lord, for Thou art life.

The thorns seem thicker than the bloom,
Edging the pathway to the tomb:
They pierce — and whither shall I flee,
Except, dear Lord, I flee to Thee?

Come near at morning, noon, and night;
Be Thy sweet presence my delight;
Thy gracious comfort freely give,
That I may look to Thee and live.

And, oh at last when I shall feel
The damps of death upon me steal,
Disclose to my dim, fading eyes,
The opening gate of Paradise.

Christmas comes but once a year;
⁠Happy that twice it cometh not:
For sirloin is uncommon dear,
⁠And dear the pudding in the pot;
And floods are out, and rooms are chill,
And every morning brings a bill.

That plant yclept the mistletoe
⁠To me by no means pleasant is:
My daughters underneath it go
⁠To meet a detrimental kiss,
From one who nothing hath a year,
And liveth in a street called Queer.

My parson preacheth straight at me,
⁠My wine-merchant sends claret sour,
My stocks are down to thirty-three,
⁠My stockbroker won’t wait an hour;
My boys, escaped scholastic swish,
Take from the larder what they wish.

Well, life has consolations still:
⁠Locked in my study, far away
From riots that my household fill,
⁠I pass a calm, if cheerless day —
Thankful, as bed-time draweth near,
That Christmas comes but once a year.